She held her hand out for the ice cup, and I held the straw for her while she drank.

At one the aide brought a tray, and I took the soup spoon out of her hand before she could spill it on herself.

Margaret ate four spoonfuls and then put her palm up.

“You need to go home.”

“I need to be here.”

“You need to sleep in a bed that isn’t a chair.” She breathed.

“Go home, Patricia.

Feed that husband of yours.”